I promised another chapter quickly! Here it is! THIS is the chapter we have all been waiting for! I hope I messaged you all, but if for some reason I missed someone, please let me know so I can thank you properly.

And now, enjoy the climax of Deliverance.

Where we left off:

A great battle cry shook the very foundations of the pole as magic snow globes shattered and portals sent hundreds of soldiers to the battlefield. The Guardians went last; casting one fond, last look to the Pole. The battle may be a guaranteed success, but that didn't mean that their lives were. So they enjoyed the magic and wonder in the air….one…last….time…..

And stepped through the portal.

Disclaimer: I do not own RotG

Chapter 14: Armageddon Rising

Toothiana squinted against the brightness of the desert sun as she stepped from the vortex. It was painfully bright. When her eyes finally adjusted, violet irises widened. Pitch's army covered half of the field in black.

The specter himself stood at the helm of the horde, the plain black robe cast away in favor of, not battle garb, but the ritualistic robes of a high priest. Before him was a table of black sand, a pale figure tied down to it. This was a sacrifice. Seraphina visibly tense beside her, long fingers hovering over the hilt of her sword.

Hold fast, my Guardians.

Even from their distance, Tooth could see the rot in the smile that split the face of their adversary.

"Welcome, Warriors of Light!" The Nightmare King shouted. "This day is a day that the world will not soon forget. This is the end of all things known and the beginning of the things that are mine. Of my master. You who are present, bear witness to this statement and mark it in your hearts for however long they remain in your chests. But before the battle begins, we must offer the proper sacrifices."

Pitch looked down at the boy in front of him and grinned again. The sand table had allowed much of him to sink into it like quicksand; only his head, chest, and shoulders remained above the black. The rest of him was hopelessly restrained. He ran his hand through the white hair again. The boy could do nothing but growl at him past the pain in his stomach.

"Of course," He shouted. "This is not a sacrifice for you, though you did provide the lamb, it's for me. I am going to sacrifice this lamb and turn him into my lion. He is not my atonement, I am far beyond salvation, he is my weapon." A pregnant pause filled the land as Pitch reached inside his robes. His bare arm returned with a tar like black snake wrapped around his arm. The head hovered above his palm, loosing its form like ink and reforming just as quickly. It hissed and flared.

The Warriors of Light belted out a battle cry, surging forward at the prompting of his precious daughter. He smiled and held up his hand to steady his own troops.

"So let us now witness the joining of these two beings in unholy chaos. Only one will emerge, and for better or—well really there is no better—worse, they will forever be joined together." He paused; the army of light was dangerously close. He sucked in a breath through his nose of the dry desert air. "Amen baby, it's time to awaken the beast and snuff out all the little lights."

And with that he closed his hand, releasing the horde as the snake descended on the boy.

~o.o~

1:00

Seraphina felt rather than heard her boy's tortured cry as it was cut short by the demon wriggling its way down his throat.

2:15

Blue eyes impossibly wide as his chest thumped and jolted and her own were clouded with tears.

Pitch turned to the shadowman beside him. "If the boy prevails, shoot him."

3:02

Another battle cry ripped from her already raw throat as she cut through the creatures of darkness with her blade. They were horribly outnumbered.

4:37

She reached the halfway point on the battlefield when he began to seize, blue eyes melting to grey and rib cage still expanding dangerously. The wind began to howl as the temperature dropped.

5:55

She cut them down with all the grace and finesse of a butcher. Her eyes locked on the child she so desperately loved.

6:20

The others had fallen behind her, but she couldn't find it within herself to care. They had their prophecy, but it did Jack no good.

6:40

He would be a casualty of the war and in the end it didn't matter whether she had come for him now or earlier. Either way, Tooth had been right. She only wanted to hold him-

6:57

One

6:58

Last

6:59

Time.

7:00

The seizure had ended and grey eyes had filled with black. The sand lifted its prisoner and released the white haired boy from its hold. He stood on his one good leg and accepted the crooked staff from Pitch's outstretched grasp. Within seconds he had taken to the sky, dark clouds swirling above him as the temperature continued to drop. The horde surged in strength as the light of the sun was blotted out. The sky became like night.

Seraphina pulled her gaze away from him. There would be no last moments, he was gone. Instead, she looked back at Aster. Grass green met emerald. Both were filled with fear and sorrow. The armies of light were very quickly being overcome. They were simply too few to match the horde that continued to pour from the shadows.

Winds howled as yellow eyes glowed from the dusky darkness before death strikes met the chests and necks of soldiers on both sides. Shadowman and creature of light alike fell to the blades of their adversaries. It was a free for all slaughter, and this small army of light was just the appetizer in comparison to the rest of the world.

Mother Nature cleaved a monstrous beast from stem to stern and retreated to join her comrades. They had to clear away just enough of the filth for just long enough so Bunny could take his shot. As it was, the snow had already begun to fall as the captive North Wind drove it into their faces like sleet. Tooth and Sandy were grounded in seconds, the weather much too strong for flight.

The Warriors of Light huddled together for protection and warmth. Separated they would be quickly defeated, but together they might stand a chance. They fought valiantly against the black adversaries and the icy wind that coated them all in frost.

Seraphina looked to the sky. Jökul's eyes, though not yet white, were beginning to glaze. He was perched high in the sky, unmoving as the wind held him up. They had only moments left.

"Aster, we will cover you! Take the shot!"

They opened a circle and placed him in the center of it. Aster sheathed his boomerangs and swords and retrieved the bow and quiver that he had strapped onto his back. It was the only weapon that could reach the heights at which Jökul had perched himself. He nocked an arrow and took aim as the pleas in his heart groaned with fervency.

"Please, if there's some othah way, make it known. Ya promised a victory, an' this kid deserves peace. Please, find anothah way." He paused as he took into account the gale force winds. "But if there isn't an' ya mean fer me ta shoot this boy, give me speed and make it true."

And with that, E. Aster Bunnymund loosed his arrow.

It sailed high, cutting the wind as it arched well away from the boy and began to curve towards him on the downward spiral. It neared his back when—

BAM

It hit some sort of barrier and fell away.

Seraphina gaped, narrowly avoiding a slice meant to take her head, and stared at the air behind the Winter Phoenix. Now fully revealed, he had turned his sights away from the battle and from the staff flowed rivers of ice on the back of the wind toward the four corners of the earth. The ground beneath them froze solid, taking with it some of both sides of this battle. Their war was no longer his fight. He was neither spirit nor demon: he was punishment, he was cleansing. He was a nothing with the power to destroy everything.

And that was exactly what he was going to do until a flash of light cut through the thick clouds above and from the fissure poured thousands upon thousands of white clad men and women led by two who shone like diamonds in the desert sun. One of the leaders broke away and with a small contingent, he approached the Phoenix. The same barrier that protected the winter force from the arrow of the children of light now protected these ethereal beings from the arrows of darkness' offspring. The rest, led by the remaining spirit, descended upon the enemy and surrounded the Warriors of Light.

Pitch, though he paled slightly at the appearance of the rescuers, recovered quickly and with a flick of his wrist, thousands more of his horde poured from the shadows. North's eyes widened at the sight of the dark wave barreling towards the white clad warriors and he attempted to push his way through to the front. So many of them looked so young, he would rather he loose his life than watch as they fell to the sword. But one set a hand on his shoulder, and though his face was youthful, North saw within it the fire that lay on the brow of every immortal. And the gaze of the young man was one that clearly spoke of many years more than North had lived. These beings were older than time itself. And so he allowed them to maneuver him back with the others behind the protective shield. They handled the oncoming horde with grace and merciless efficiency, cutting through the darkness like it was butter.

But the dark horde was large and though they were cutting it down as fast as Pitch could conjure it and send it forth, the Nightmare King understood that this was not a battle he would win with numbers. He had understood that from the beginning. This army's purpose was to stall until the Phoenix was unleashed. And now that it had been unchained, he had only to make sure the rebirth of the world as dark and cold could be finalized.

Pitch looked up towards the sky. The fissure, though it no longer spat out the beings of light, refused to fill with clouds, as did the rest of the sky. Instead it shone as a beacon of the sun's light, weakening his horde and providing warmth to the frozen battlefield. But it was not this annoyance that drained the blood from his cheeks. It was the group of warriors with a messenger at their helm that was surrounding his Phoenix. And with the turn of his stomach, the tide of the battle was tipped in the favor of light.

Like men of the king's guard, the Immortal Sons of Light surrounded The Messenger and the Child of Winter, maintaining the shield and keeping out the dark. There was enough evil within the boy to keep them busy enough as it was. The hurricane winds did little to affect their flight; they felt no cold and the wind held no sway over their bodies. Their only mission was to protect.

The Messenger had stationed himself at the head of the Winter Phoenix, strong hands resting on either side of the pale face. The winds blew his robes but he did not tarry. He was reaching, not to the Phoenix before him or the Demon that unleashed it, but to the child that protected the fullness of winter's magic. He was reaching to Jack, and though the boy was blind, deaf, and dying, the heart that beat within his chest was still pure and the soul, though battered and bruised, had not yet been consumed by the dark being within him.

The Messenger felt Jack within the chaos. Felt and reached out to him in the fray to give him courage. Rākṣasa Bhūta was not a creature that could be ordered out with words or drawn out with pleas. Only the deliverance of his host could pull the being from the boy. But first The Messenger had to contain the Phoenix.

"Jack!" The Messenger yelled above the gale. "I know you remain even still, child of light! Breach the surface and heed my words. This is not your purpose. This is not why you were made. Reach out and claim your freedom and you shall have it! Take hold of Life, dear child, for it reaches out to you. Claim your Deliverance!"

An icy hand clamped down on The Messenger's arm, deadly hoarfrost shooting from the palm. The man merely brushed it aside, the hand loosing its grasp the moment he touched it. This was not Rākṣasa Bhūta, this was the storm that had taken hold, and though it was strong it had no memory nor any thought processes to tell it that the man holding it firmly was a threat to the very fiber of the tempest.

The Messenger shook his head and gently tried to work the staff from the hand of the boy. But he held it in an iron grasp, and the effort was for naught. Black arrows flew with fervor, the aim deadly though they could not reach their targets past the shield. Even so, they had to bring this fight back to the ground.

The man in white set his thumbs on either side of the boy's nose, his long fingers knitted in the white crop of hair, and pressed against the pale face. Though the forces within him—evil and torrential alike—were spiritual in nature, the body they inhabited (though it was immortal) was quite natural in form and pressure points were still present. These particular ones were powerful enough to relax just enough of the boys' tense muscles to pry the staff from his fingers. The moment the connection with the conduit was lost, the tempest dwindled in its supernatural power. Though it was still a storm of great might, it had lost its power and no longer presented a threat to the world.

As for the boy, his eyes cleared and rolled back into his head as he went slack. The strain of releasing the Phoenix was too much for the host. If it wasn't for the arms around him he would have plummeted thousands of feet to the ground. A gentle descent in the arms of The Messenger was much kinder.

The boy began to stir as they neared the dirt of the battlefield, and though it pained him to clench the child tightly to his side, the Man of Light had no way of knowing whether Jack or Jökul was now cradled against him. A shudder passed through the boy, a whimper following on its heels.

"Jack!" The Messenger cried and loosened his grip. The boy only burrowed his head further into the fabric of the cape. The moment they reached the ground, the man moved to lay the boy down, his leg was crooked and painted with all shades of black and blue. But before he could, a sharp pain in his side caused the Warrior to suck in a breath. There, in between two plates of armor, was a long icicle that had been rammed into his side. He looked down at the boy still clenched to him. Eyes black as night, a maniacal grin had split his features. The Messenger pushed the spirit away, wincing as the child fell to the ground. Whether or not any pain was felt, the mangled leg still couldn't hold weight. No blood to be seen, the man merely pulled out the shard and allowed the light to heal the wound. Black eyes widened slightly.

"Mere force cannot bring me to my knees, Rākṣasa Bhūta," The warrior said as he stepped toward the boy who was scooting backwards in the dirt. "You know this."

A strangled hiss was all he was given in reply. The man shook his head and lunged for the teen. He caught him easily around the neck, the screeching and explosion of all the worst winter had to offer not even breaking his first layer of resolve. He brought it to its knees in moments, forcing the head forward and away from his neck and arms. The contingency surrounded the pair and warded off any attacks. There were many.

Though he kicked and screamed, the demon-child with the strength of ten men twice his size could not escape the hold. First instinct was to throw the boy down and threaten to take his life as ransom, but Rākṣasa Bhūta knew the battered body couldn't take the strain. But a ransom wasn't the only method at his disposal. Rākṣasa Bhūta retreated deep into the mind of his host and allowed what was left of the boy to resurface.

A strangled moan as the boy went lax stole the breath away from the Warrior of Light.

~o.o~

The night was dark and full of terrors. And Jack was trapped within it. There was no sound or sight, no light to be seen, only the chill that crept into his very bones and the dull pain that did not ease with stillness. Even the noises that he tried to make to fill the void returned empty. He couldn't move, and after a while he began to question why he was fighting this in the first place. Here he was a nothing; out there he was a weapon. Being a nothing and drifting away without hurting anyone didn't seem so bad.

But then he began hearing voices and hands were gripping his face and he didn't like it. He just wanted whoever this was to let him die in peace. But the voice was insistent and though he couldn't make out what they were saying, the tone was not that of the Nightmare King or Rākṣasa Bhūta so he tried a little harder to understand. Soon all the talking stopped and he felt a pressure on either side of his nose before it felt like electricity had jolted through his veins. He felt strong arms around him then, holding him upright even though all he wanted to do was fall to whatever was below. He hoped it was soft.

His wish was not granted. Rākṣasa Bhūta returned with a fervor, screeching and ranting, screaming in his ears, and the pressure—like a snake suffocating its prey—tightening without mercy around his body. He couldn't breathe and in those moments Jack wanted nothing more than to die.

Suddenly the screeching stopped, leaving only a ringing in his ears. A light began to grow in the distance, as harsh and unforgiving as the coils that were squeezing the very breath out of him. It brought vision with it, hazy and untrue, but vision all the same and hearing as well. A stab of pain slackened the rigid muscles and he collapsed against the coils, a whine threading past blackened, bloody lips.

He heard his name spoken a few times and felt a hand lifting his chin. Bright, warm light filled his tunnel vision and he was suddenly laid flat on his back, his arms restrained from the wrist but the coils were gone and for that he was thankful. He coughed, the spasm sending a glob of black-streaked blood out of his mouth. It stained the snow beside him. Someone's hands were resting on either side of his head again, a voice like muffled footfalls to his cotton filled ears barking out his name. Couldn't it just leave him alone? He felt himself sink back down a bit into the darkness. His vision was growing fuzzy.

"Jack!" The hands shook him hard then knuckles began to rake over his sternum. The pressure wasn't damaging but it was painful and quite the irritation. It did the trick though, and forced him back up to the surface.

"Jack…must listen….," The voice said. He wished he could tell it to just go away! "There's…evil inside…." Well that much he already knew. But there was nothing that could be done about that. The sky looked funny from the angle he was in. Black and heavy with snow but cut right through the middle with a streak of blue. "I….help…I can….I can help!" That spiked his waning interest. Help? Him? But what could be done now? All that was left was death. The blue streak held its own against the sea of cloud around it. Jack tried to close his eyes again. Sleep seemed like such a nice prospect. Much nicer than all the yelling. And maybe if he slept he could dream that the blue just sucked him right up and put him somewhere nice and warm. He was so very cold. He could feel the chill, like rivers flowing inside him. But the hands shook him again and a face filled his blurred gaze. He was a little annoyed that the head was blocking out his vision of the sky. But the face and the voice that went with it demanded attention so he figured he might as well listen. For once the words were clear.

"Jack, you must fight the evil. I will do all I can to help, but you have to make the decision. Listen for the voice and do as it says. There is not a place you could go where that voice could not find you: not even the darkness where you are caged." A pause. "Do you want to live, my child?"

Jack thought about that for a moment. In many ways he wanted nothing more than to die, to be rid of an existence that had only brought him hurt.

And a mother.

Mother. Jack had nearly forgotten about her. She would miss him terribly if he went to sleep and didn't wake back up. He didn't know if he could willingly decide to leave her like that. But before he could shake his head, something grasped him by the back of the neck and jerked him back into complete and utter darkness. He tensed but did not fight back; if he had the claw-like nails on the fingers that grabbed him surely would have punctured the skin. As it was they drew blood in scratches.

Jack tried to move and found that he could not. He didn't struggle against it, only listened to see if he could hear the voice once more. All he heard was the clicking and dragging of nails along the icy floor. The hairs rose on the back of his neck. He was not alone here.

Blue eyes searched the darkness for any shadow that moved, but he could see nothing past the ink. He was blind. The scraping continued, drawing ever closer but never touching him. He felt breath on the back of his neck. It smelled of rot and poison.

Jack!

The boy whipped his head around. He had never heard that voice before.

Jaaaccckkk!

But for some incomprehensible reason, this voice did not scare him. Didn't fill him to the core with fear. In fact, it instilled a small grain of bravery.

Jack, do you want to come and play?

And that grain grew larger with every passing moment.

'Play?' He thought. Why would he want that?

Do you want to be free?

Did he? In many ways, captivity was so much easier. Much less painful. But freedom, even the small taste that he had been allowed, was filled with joy and peace. Yes there was choice, but there was love to go along with it and that love was Mother-Love and the love of Esther and just as they loved him so he loved them! And in that love was freedom, so he tried to nod his head but found that he could not.

It's quite alright, child of winter. I see your heart and I measure it accordingly.

Jack didn't quite understand.

A deep chuckle filled even the deepest reaches of his mind.

Oh, Child, you are so filled with the desire for love I see it in your very heart. You wear it like a coat.

A mournful sigh filled the air.

I have been searching after you for so very long, Jack Frost. Seeking you in the darkness even while the enemy tried to pull you further and further away. But he can only take you away from Me if you let him. And it is the same with Me. I can only help you if you let Me.

'Who are you?' He wanted to ask. 'Why do you care what happens to me?' But his voice did not obey his commands.

I Am who I Am, Frost Child. And I was the first to care. You were made for so much more than ordinary things. For so much more than pain and fear. You are beautiful and precious to me, Child. You were made to be filled with light.

And Jack once again found himself thinking. 'Did you make me?'

I did.

'Did you not want me?'

Of course I did. And I followed after you wherever you went. It's only now that you've turned around to see who was following.

'If I come, will I have to live with you?'

I will live with you and you will live with Me. It is the same with all who call upon My name.

'But I have someone here. Someone who loves me I think.'

Jack could almost hear the smile on the voice that spoke into the void.

Yes, Jack, My Seraphina does love you very much.

'Your Seraphina?'

Yes. She is a child of mine just as you may become if you so choose.

'Will I see her again? My Mother?'

That depends. If you stay here, you will be consumed by the evil that resides within you. But if you choose to live, you will most definitely see her again.

'Then I choose life. I…I want to go home now.'

And you shall, My little one. You are under My protection now. Take courage, Jack Frost, for the time of your Deliverance has come.

A loud shriek pierced through the darkness, a roar like that of a lion following on its heels. And in the blink of an eye, Jack felt a pressure begin to build in his chest as the darkness began to glow like the dawn of a day just being birthed. The pressure grew stronger and stronger as the light grew, and though he could not move he wanted desperately for it to be gone! Suddenly the light began to turn into sight and a snow-clad patch of land filled his vision. He vaguely heard a scuffling in the background before realizing that the pressure was coming up whether he liked it or not and it was all he could do to open his mouth before his stomach jumped up into his chest and he wretched an impossible lungful of black gunk.

It was steaming and singed. Jack looked down at it for a moment before realizing what it was. The demon that had forced its way in had just been pushed out. But he didn't feel empty; this was not like before. There was a warmth that was seated in his chest. It added no pressure and caused no pain, it only filled the void with a balm that soothed the wounds from all the wrong fits that Pitch had stuffed into it over the years. Finally, after three hundred years, he felt whole again.

~o.o~

The Warrior of Light pushed himself up on his elbows and reached to steady the emancipated teen. Though he had not been privy to the conversation the winter sprite had with his commander, the spirit did experience the full force of the demon that was trying to force the King of Light out. The boy had attacked him, eyes black as night and movements so erratic he managed to ground every sentinel that tried to subdue him and lunged for the jugular of The Messenger before he fell to his knees and the black melted from his eyes. Then the man had watched as the teen wretched the charred remains of the monster.

"Jack?" The man asked. He smiled as bright blue eyes drifted up to look in his own emerald gaze. Suddenly the boy's back arched, a gasp flying out of stained lips. The tip of a black arrow protruded from his chest, the shaft buried in his back up to the feathers.

"No!" The Man of Light cried. But Jack didn't even wince. A wonderful gift of numbness had been bestowed upon him.

For the others present, the pain was far too much. A sentinel tore off after the shooter, taking it down without hesitation and without mercy. It was a shadowman with a longbow. But when the soldier turned back to return to his group, he found his men scattered and his captain on the ground. How Pitch managed to break though the iron defenses they could not even hope to fathom, but in the end it didn't matter. Every one of them witnessed the Nightmare King, his priestly robes flapping in the dying wind, grip the head of the Spirit of Winter and give it a sharp twist.

The body fell on the Plains of Megiddo to the tandem of war cries and the clash of metal.

It was like that when I found it, I swear.